i think about death sometimes.
i think about how it'd feel for it to kiss me on the lips, chapped and split, the sweet coolness cherry red. i think of the release, of the painless passing.
what would i find if i looked through my mind? i don't even know what's going on in there. it's a solid see-saw of good and bad, tipping like children on a playground.
tell me what you see when you look into my eyes. are they the window to my soul, or did i forget to open the blinds again? if you peer inside, will you see me unable to get out of bed?
lie to me. tell me your feelings. pick them apart, overanalyze them, feed them to me. i like the taste of the spoon they sit in; is that copper, or just my own blood?
i think about death sometimes. it's collateral damage from being stuck in your mind, from you being stuck in my chest, inside by ribcage, //ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum//. the pounding of my heart sounds like the bass i overwhelm my ears with.
on nights like these, i can't help but not get out of bed. i can't walk or eat all i can do is think all i can do is wish all i can do is want to die please god i want to //die//
i think about death sometimes. but only sometimes.